Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (39 page)

And to think that Molly would want me to suck up to him
, he added, silently.  Henry would
hate
that too, he was sure.  If he’d wanted to be sucked up to, he would have served under his real name. 
Brave boy ...

Rose cleared her throat, meaningfully.  Kurt snapped out of his thoughts and walked up to the stand, then glared at his pilots.  There were too many empty chairs, he saw, wishing they could be removed as they were on the modern carriers.  But
Ark Royal’s
were bolted to the deck.  Not, in the end, that it was anything more than an illusion.  There would be many more empty chairs at the end of the day.

“The enemy thinks they have us bent over a barrel,” he said.  The crude analogy would appeal to them, he knew.  “They’re currently planning to ram something unpleasant right up our buttocks, probably a dildo coated in chilli.”

There were some chuckles.  The atmosphere of doom started to lift, slightly.  Kurt smiled inwardly, then continued.

“We have to stop them,” he said.  “In particular, we will have to keep them off the modern carriers as well as launching antishipping strikes of our own, in unison with the ship-mounted weapons.  Ideally, we want to wreck their carriers and force the rest of their ships to keep their distance.  This will not be easy, but if it was easy, they wouldn't need us.”

He paused.  “This is what we’ve trained for, since the start of the operation,” he continued.  “You will be flying in makeshift formations, operating beside pilots from several separate nations, defending all of us from the aliens.  I expect each and every one of you to do your duty, knowing that everything rests on you.

“Years ago, Britain’s fate rested in the hands of a handful of pilots.  Now, the fate of all of humanity may rest on her starfighters and the brave men and women who fly them.  It will not be easy, it will be costly, but there is no other choice.  Watch your wingmen, fight with your comrades and kick alien butt.”

He took another moment to survey the room.  The next operation, if there
was
a next operation, would involve more prep time, if he had anything to say about it.  They’d flown endless simulated missions, but not enough real flying beside their international allies.  Most of their experience had come from learning on the job.  In future, he promised himself, the Royal Navy would take the lessons from this deployment and apply them thoroughly.

“Good luck,” he said.  He lifted his helmet.  “I’ll be flying out there beside you, so don’t let me down.”

They looked surprised, even though he was wearing a flight suit and carrying a helmet.  Kurt remembered his own days as a young pilot and understood their feelings; he’d never really believed, emotionally, that
his
CAG had also been a pilot.  No, the pilots had assured themselves that the CAG didn't really know what it was like to be a pilot.  But they’d been wrong, as he’d discovered later.  The CAG had been a flyer – it was a requirement for the post – but he’d never needed to fly into battle.  Back then, the Royal Navy had never really believed that a war was likely.

Which does raise the question of just how much the world governments knew
, Kurt thought, coldly.  It was a question that was still hotly debated. 
Did they start the military build-up because of a prospective alien threat
?

“Your flight schedules are posted on the datanet,” he concluded.  “Half of you will escort the bombers; half of you will cover the carriers.  If you have to switch roles in a hurry, I’ll let you know.  Try not to fuck up under enemy fire.  That’s always costly.”

The pilots grimaced.  One advantage of the simulators was that they could make mistakes without anything more than public humiliation.  And, as always, they’d made every mistake in the book long before taking a single starfighter out of a launch tube.  But, thankfully, most of them had learned from the experience.

Kurt smiled at their expressions.  “Report to your starfighters,” he ordered, finally.  The pilots would do well, he knew, or die trying.  But far too many of them would die anyway.  “And prepare for launch.”

Chapter Thirty

“Sir,” Lightbridge said, “the Admiral is providing a second set of course changes.”

“Implement them,” James ordered, shortly.  He tracked them on the display, then nodded to himself.  Force One was overtaking them, slowly but surely, but Force Two was still holding position near the tramline.  The Admiral had effectively ensured that they would only have to face Force One.  “Time to interception?”

“Ten minutes to effective starfighter range,” Farley said.

James sucked in his breath.  He hated the waiting, but there was nothing he could do, short of spinning the ship and engaging Force One directly. 
Ark Royal
was heavily armoured, but she wasn't armoured enough to survive a short-range duel with the alien ships.  He rather doubted that
anything
human could stand up to alien plasma cannons at short range.  If nothing else, they’d boil the weapons off the Old Lady’s hull, then slowly burn through the solid-state armour and slaughter her crew.

He looked down at the live feed from the launch bay.  The CAG had taken a starfighter, much to James’s irritation, but he had to admit there were few other alternatives.  They needed everyone who could fly a starfighter out there, covering the hull.  Admiral Smith’s half-formed plan might work, James knew, but they would still take terrifying losses.  It was quite possible that one of those losses might include a carrier called
Ark Royal
.

Once, he'd wanted command so desperately that he’d been prepared to compromise himself to get it.  Now, he felt the weight of command falling around his shoulders ... and found himself praying that he didn't let the Old Lady down.  The ship seemed to hum around him as the enemy crawled closer, preparing themselves to engage the human ships.  It wouldn’t be long now.

“Captain,” Farley said, “the Admiral is ordering us to deploy mines on his mark.”

“Then do so,” James ordered.  It was possible, just possible, that the aliens would get a nasty shock.  Anything that won the human race a few advantages couldn't be discarded lightly, even if some naval officers considered them dishonourable.  But it was also possible that the aliens might see the mines and alter course to avoid them.  “And keep me informed.”

***

“Deploy mines,” Ted ordered.  “And then start pulsing their sensors with target locks.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said.  “Mines are being deployed ... now.”

Ted nodded, watching the display.  The course changes had been risky – the aliens had been able to use them to shorten the distance between the two fleets – but they had achieved Ted’s overall objective.  Force One could engage them, but – with a little bit of luck – they could evade Force Two ... if, of course, they managed to beat Force One.

He watched as the alien fleet crawled closer, heading right towards the invisible minefield.  There was nothing to the mines, save a bomb-pumped laser warhead wrapped in stealth coating, capable of doing serious damage to a starship if it scored a direct hit.  The beautiful simplicity of the system, Ted hoped, would be enough to allow it to work.  If nothing else, it should make the aliens more paranoid about closing in on human ships.

“Mines entering attack range,” Lopez reported.  Red lights flared up on the display.  “I think they’ve been detected!”

“Order them to attack,” Ted said, quietly.

The mines detonated.  Bomb-pumped laser beams lashed out towards the closest targets, the alien frigates and battlecruisers.  Ted watched several of them ripped apart by the minefield, others damaged so badly they had to fall out of formation.  One of the alien carriers was hit, blown into little pieces by several direct hits, but the remainder were completely untouched.

“Sir,” Lopez reported.  “We killed or disabled twelve smaller ships and one carrier.”

She sounded disappointed.  Ted didn't blame her, but the mines hadn't been entirely wasted, not really.  The sheer walls of point defence the aliens could put out against human starfighters had been badly weakened, now their escort ships were gone.  Besides, it had also taught the aliens a lesson.  It was possible, he told himself, that Force One would hang back long enough to allow him to break contact.

“They’re launching starfighters,” Lopez added.  “I think we made them mad.”

“Of course we did,” Ted said, with some amusement.  He paused, silently calculating the time it would take for the alien starfighters to reach his ships, then tapped a switch on his console.  “Launch fighters; I say again, launch fighters.”

He settled back in his command chair and watched, grimly, as new red icons streaked away from the alien ships, heading towards his fleet.  They’d be far too effective against his modern carriers, he knew, and if he were in command of the alien fleet they’d bear the brunt of the attack.  Take out the carriers, take out the starfighter platforms, then wear down the Old Lady and the frigates one by one.  It made an alarming amount of sense.

“Order our CSP to cover the modern carriers too,” he added.  The Old Lady could take a beating from the alien starfighters and keep going.  None of the other carriers had such advantages.  “We don’t want to lose any of them.”

“Aye, sir,” Lopez said.  “Guns are requesting permission to engage.”

Ted hesitated, calculating vectors in his head.  “Mass drivers may engage,” he said, although he was doubtful they’d score any hits.  Mass driver projectiles worked best against unsuspecting targets.  The aliens were clearly sweeping space aggressively, hoping to locate and destroy any remaining mines before they went active and attacked another alien starship or two.  “Missile tubes are to remain locked, for the moment.  We shall wait until the range shortens”

“Picking up new small craft signatures,” Lopez said, suddenly.  “The aliens are launching new craft of unknown configuration.”

Ted gritted his teeth.  New craft meant trouble, if only because he didn't know what to expect from them.  “What does the computer make of them?”

Lopez hesitated, consulting her system as well as relaying the request to the analysts.  “The computer thinks they’re somewhere midway between a shuttle and a starfighter,” she said, puzzled.  “They’re definitely three or four times the size of a standard starfighter.”

“Odd,” Ted mused.  The aliens hadn't built any specialised bomber designs, but then they’d hardly needed to bother.  “Order the CSP to engage them as soon as they come into range.”

***

Henry gritted his teeth as his starfighter exploded out into the inky darkness of space, then looked down at his display and smiled, grimly.  The aliens had taken a beating, thanks to the mines, but now they were out for blood.  A vast cloud of alien starfighters were bearing down on the fleet, followed by a number of craft the computers refused to identify properly.  Orders came down the line a moment later; his squadron was to engage the alien starfighters, while the CSP held the line in front of the carriers.  Ahead of them, the frigates were already manoeuvring to add their firepower to the fleet’s point defence.

He winced as he saw the frigates – it wasn't uncommon for point defence to engage friendly starfighters in the heat of battle – and then pushed the thought out of his mind as he accelerated towards the alien formation.  His wingmen fell in beside him, their chatter stilled as they contemplated the odds facing them; Henry smiled to himself, then switched his weapons to automatic fire.  There was little time for contemplation of his own mortality, not any longer.  All he wanted to feel was happiness that he’d finally managed to get himself treated as just another pilot.

“Prepare to engage,” Paton ordered.  “Break up their formation, if possible, then scatter the bastards.”

“Understood,” Henry said.  “Here we go ...”

He would have preferred to escort the bombers as they attacked the alien carriers, but orders were orders.  Besides, if they didn't cover the carriers, they’d have no hope of getting home. 
Henry
might have mixed feelings about that, yet he knew it wasn't fair to the other pilots. 
They
didn't have to worry about being forced onto the throne when they reached Earth ...

The aliens were suddenly all around them, firing madly towards the human formation.  Henry’s guns opened fire automatically, snapping off shot after shot towards the alien craft, while Henry himself concentrated on staying alive.  An alert flashed up in front of him, noting that a human pilot had actually
collided
with an alien pilot, destroying both starfighters.  The odds against an actual collision, he'd been told, were staggeringly high, even in the starfighter counterpart to Close-Quarter Battle.  But it didn't really matter, he knew; the dead pilot had at least taken an alien with him ...

Space was suddenly clear as the aliens resumed their charge towards the carriers.  Henry didn't wait for orders; he flipped his starfighter around and gunned the engine, giving chase as quickly as possible.  The aliens ignored the human starfighters snapping at their heels as they closed in on
Napoleon
and
Lincoln
, ready to tear two fragile human carriers apart with their weapons.  In response, the Americans and French opened fire with their point defence, trying to scatter the alien formation.  But the aliens refused to be deterred.

Henry barely noticed the French CSP as he swooped down and picked off two alien fighters, just as their comrades opened fire.  Bolts of superheated plasma stabbed deep into the French carrier, but – thankfully – they didn't hit anything that might have started a chain reaction and destroyed the ship.  Instead, the French pilots drove them off, apart from one alien who crashed into the lower hull and exploded.  Henry swallowed hard, then relaxed as it became clear the alien hadn't deliberately intended to commit suicide.  He would have supercharged his plasma containment chambers if he’d
meant
to become a kamikaze.